


Roleplay - One Piece - Law | Flynn

by saucyspinach, someidioticurl



Category: One Piece
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucyspinach/pseuds/saucyspinach, https://archiveofourown.org/users/someidioticurl/pseuds/someidioticurl
Summary: One Piece based RP between Lizard (Flynn) and Lena (Law).We'll update tags as we goLizard: 10,081 / Lena: 11773
Comments: 1





	Roleplay - One Piece - Law | Flynn

**Lizard**

Flynn placed a tray on a floor beside Captain's room. A fresh cup of coffee with a 'Captain' sticky note and a small bowl of celery sticks and strawberries with a <3

* * *

**Lena**

It was hardly the strangest assortment of items littered outside his door – the most baffling being a pair of knitting needles, a goose egg, and a bottle of lotion – but the coffee, strawberries, and celery sticks came close. Law peeled off the sticky notes and held them close to his face. ‘Captain’ and a symbol of a heart.

Law’s thoughts immediately went to a secret admirer. A love confession? From a member of his crew? Which one? It was no secret they fanboyed (and fangirled, in the case of Ikkaku, though frankly, she never joined in the crew’s occasional showers of adulation bestowed upon him) over him – and it was partially a secret that Law relished their admiration. Yet, none of the crew had ever been this outright about their feelings, professing their love so unabashedly. Law was inclined to believe it was a prank, because that seemed more plausible than “love”, or perhaps, it was Bepo who left the tray, the heart symbolising his friendship – only, Bepo would knock and make his presence known. Bepo wouldn’t resort to furtiveness and Bepo’s handwriting wasn’t that neat.

Law stooped down and stuck the notes onto the tray before carrying it into his room, setting it down on his desk. He eyed the strawberries and celery next, picking up a berry and examining it up close with suspicion. He was not strictly a vegan or on a diet, and thus, there had to be other reasons for the fruit and vegetable selected for him. No doubt, the coffee was for him to enjoy, but there had to be deeper meaning to the other gifts. Law racked his brains for all the knowledge he had acquired on strawberries and celery.

What was that he’d read? Strawberries were a symbol for Venus, the Goddess of Love. Strawberries were red and almost heart-shaped, all the more signifying one’s love for another. According to a legend, cutting a double strawberry in half and sharing it with another meant both would fall in love. He remained incredulous about that, but perhaps his secret admirer differing beliefs. Wasn’t there something about dreaming about strawberries portending forbidden desires? A relationship between a captain and their crewmen, would undeniably fall into that category. Of course, strawberries were also viewed as symbols of purity in some places, and happiness in others. What did that mean – did this secret admirer promise to take his purity away in exchange for happiness? Or were they requesting he defiled their purity? Curious.

Then there were the celery sticks – puzzling. Celery, from what he’d read, was associated with death, used as garlands for the dead, to show one’s love for the deceased. Celery, an essential part of burials, adorned graves and crowned the dead. That didn’t make sense, for he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe part of him was, and had been dead for over a decade, but he couldn’t tell if the celery then was meant to be insulting… Yet, wasn’t celery also considered an aphrodisiac said to stimulate a man’s virility? Jesus Christ. Goodness gracious. This secret admirer was truly brazen.

Law was eighty percent convinced this was either a salacious gift, or a very naughty prank. Both possibilities stupefied him. He plopped himself down onto his chair and stared at the tray. He figured he might as well consume and enjoy the gifts, rather than let them go to waste. He sipped on the coffee, enjoying the warm bitterness which was to his liking, and bit into the strawberries, tasting their sweetness in contrast, before munching on the celery sticks. Satiated, he carried the tray out and subtly asked around if anyone had seen who had left it.

Uni pointed him to Clio, who pointed him to Jean Bart – and they both engaged in a very awkward conversation with Jean Bart looking flustered, and Law mistaking that as guilt, which elicited in him a twinge of apprehension. Law hastily sidestepped him and decided he would pretend that talk never happened. He made his way to the kitchen, and asked if anyone had been in there slicing celery up earlier. Juri mentioned glimpsing Flynn preparing some coffee a while ago, and Law got his answer. He spent several minutes contemplating the sincerity of Flynn’s gesture. He wouldn’t put it past Flynn to prank him, yet Flynn had never expressed a liking of this nature for him.

Law was heartless, but not that heartless that he wouldn’t reciprocate.

The next day, Law left a note on Flynn’s bunk: ‘Meet me on the deck tonight, midnight. – Captain’

When the clock struck midnight, should Flynn make his way to the deck, he would find, in the middle of the floor, a tray sitting innocently, containing a mug of hot chocolate (still warm), two plums, and a bunch of carrots (unpeeled, unsliced). Attached to the tray were two sticky notes: ‘Flynn’ and an anatomically accurate drawing of a heart. The captain himself seemed absent from sight, though he lurked, hidden behind a corner, peering out just barely with watchful eyes trained on Flynn.

* * *

**Lizard**

It didn't take long after Flynn's return from the town that something seemed... Off. Some - not all - crewmembers looked at him with... Worry? Pity? From Clio, Flynn learned Captain had been looking for him. Apparently someone had left something for the Captain and captain got annoyed? No one was sure really. When Flynn admitted he had left coffee for Captain and strawberries and celery stick for Corason Jr., they came to a conclusion that the snacks must have made the turtle sick. Captain apparently wasn't angry enough to make a big deal out of it but probably concerned enough to eventually give Flynn a lengthy lecture on the quality of food.

At the note on his bed, Flynn was somewhat relieved and dreadful. Relieved because he finally knew _when_ the punishment for making precious Corazon Jr. would come and dreadful because a lecture at midnight certainly wasn't going to be pleasant.

Minutes before midnight, with two mugs of strong coffee in hands, Flynn stepped onto the deck. "Captain?" He glanced around. Between the lantern, lights from a few windows and almost full moon on the sky (or 'just after full'?) he could see quite well. Still, no Captain. Was he too early? Or... He stood just in front of a tray. A mug of dark liquid that smelled like chocolate. Something that looked like two plums. Something that looked like a small stack of carrots. Why? Was Captain expecting him to eat those? Were they laced with something that would make him run to the toilet all night long?

Flynn crouched down and sure enough, the little note had his name... And a heart? An anatomically correct heart? Why? Would whatever Captain had added to the chocolate cause him heart issues instead of the bowel? Flynn sat down, in front of the tray, put his two coffee mugs on it and eyed the chocolate smelling liquid. Well, if he made precious Corazon Jr. sick, he deserved punishment but Flynn trusted Captain to make the punishment unpleasant, not dangerous. He picked up the chocolate mug and gave it a long sniff. He couldn't smell anything _other_ than the chocolate. Flynn closed his eyes, braced himself and took a gulp. He paused, opened one eye, clicked his tongue once and again. It tasted normal too. He shrugged and took another sip, this time far more relaxed.

He put down the mug and picked one of the carrots. Yes, unpeeled. He put it back down and swung up, back to his feet. "A peeler." He hummed to himself, planning to grab one from the galley and come back.

* * *

**Lena**

Law uttered not a peep when Flynn called out to him. Neither did he emerge from his hiding spot even as he observed Flynn crouching down by the tray. Despite Flynn’s wariness and suspicions, the hot chocolate, carrots, and plums were perfectly safe for consumption (though the plums might assist with bowel movements). Law knitted his brows as he watched Flynn sniff at the mug. From Law’s perspective, the way Flynn closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, it looked like Flynn wanted not only to savour the sweet taste of the hot chocolate but also to relish every molecule of the sweet aroma wafting out from the mug. Law wondered what was going through Flynn’s mind as Flynn sipped the beverage. Was he thinking of him?

Law’s face crumpled slightly in disappointment when Flynn abruptly set down the carrot, stood up, and left. He lingered in his spot, shifting his weight onto his other foot and wondered if Flynn had the intention of returning. Law decided to trust that Flynn would not be that irresponsible to leave food out on the deck.

By the time Flynn returned, Law was seated cross-legged on one side of the tray, a mug of coffee held in his hand. Flynn received a strange look for the peeler, before Law told him, “Sit, do sit. Make yourself comfortable.” He said it as though they might be there a while. Instead of explaining the carrots and plums, Law selected the thinnest carrot from the bunch. He gripped it in his hands and, with a straight face, effortlessly snapped it into halves. _Thwack._ Law didn’t care about peeling carrots, so he took a bite from one half and munched on it. The other half he deposited into Flynn’s hand. Just a captain and his crewmate, breaking bread together – or carrots, rather. Nothing weird about that.

“Thanks for your gift yesterday,” Law said, waving the carrot half in his hand. “I know it was you.” He sipped his coffee, and added, “You should’ve left your name, you know, and saved me the trouble of asking around to sniff you out. Why all the sneaking around, does that thrill you?” His tone was monotonous, with only slight intonation at his question posed, and his face fixed was in a neutral expression. “But, it was thoughtful of you.” A corner of his lips lifted in a fleeting smile. “So, _Flynn_ , you’ve been with us for a while, but we’ve never really talked, have we? Such a pity, really.” He clicked his tongue before he tossed the remaining chunk of carrot into his mouth and crunched on it. “How is everything so far? Any complaints, grievances, suggestions? Anyone yet provoked your wrath?”

* * *

**Lizard**

Twirling a peeler between his fingers, Flynn came back to the deck. The sight of Captain gave him a pause but he smiled and continued, sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the tray - on the way to and back from the galley, he had convinced himself his 'punishment' was a midnight meeting with Captain while Captain had no intention of showing up. It was nice to know this theory was wrong.

He rose his eyebrows at the half of carrot in his hand. He was used to peeling his root vegetables but he _guessed_ it was fine if they were washed thoroughly. He shrugged and crunched on it while listening to Captain.

Flynn relaxed. It made sense. Any respectful boss should have a one on one conversation with their workers, how they are doing, where they hope to go in the future. He couldn't help a soft, almost prideful smile - Captain was such a good leader. Well... Flynn looked down at the tray. The hot chocolate was reasonable as a drink at night, but why not two mugs? Why plums? Why carrots? Were those random pieces only a vague throwback to Flynn's tray yesterday? 

"If someone told me a few years ago that I would join a pirate crew and never regret it, I would have laughed in their face." Flynn picked up the chocolate mug and took a sip, wondering what to say next. "Sure, it's dangerous, but that's a normal part of travelling. If I was a civilian, pirates might attack me, or I could be caught in Marine's crossfire. It's been great so far. The rest of the crew are amazing guys and gal. Of course, led by the coolest Captain." He lifted the mug in a little toast, smirking. Captain had his quirks and on the surface seemed gruff but anyone who spent with him a day in the same submarine knew he was a thoughtful person. "Thank you for agreeing to my dad's request to take us on - it's been a blast."

"As to why I haven't left a note..." Flynn hummed with the rim of the mug at his lips. "It's never occurred to me that I should? I just made myself coffee for the go, for when I run errands in the town and it seemed fitting to make one for you as well. And then I added snacks too 'cause why not?'" He shrugged. It wasn't abnormal for the crew to bring Captain coffee - everyone knew his preference - and Corazon Jr. existence wasn't exactly a secret either, even if Flynn couldn't recall a single time the turtle was outside Captain's cabin. "Everyone in your crew adores you, Captain. It didn't seem important to me to make it clear it was _me_ in particular." He looked down at the chocolate, then at the carrots and plums before snickering. "Thank you, tho, Captain. For your effort to find me." He couldn't help but smile. Gruff on the outside, but a nice on the inside, huh? "The chocolate is good, though I have to ask: why plums and carrots?" He motioned at the tray, before blinking, looking down at Captain's lap and both sides before looking him back in the eye, a question obvious in his expression.

Could it be Captain had brought Corazon Jr. outside?

* * *

**Lena**

A trace of suspicion glinted in Law’s eyes that narrowed as he tried to gauge the nature of Flynn’s smile, trying to decipher the intention and emotion behind it. He sipped his coffee as he listened to Flynn and paused, the warm, bitter coffee puddling on his tongue, when Flynn called him a cool captain. His brows rose slowly like a sail being hoisted up a mast. After a beat of hesitation, he lifted his mug and toasted Flynn. He couldn’t guess at what Flynn was smirking at, for Law didn’t think Flynn had said anything particularly funny – not in the amusing sense.

Law continued to scrutinise Flynn, studying the subtle twitches of his face, his body language, trying to read him like one of those trained interrogators in the Marines trying to sniff out the lies the accused was hiding. The overall impression Flynn gave off was one of honesty, yet Law thought he couldn’t clear Flynn of suspicion that soon.

Then Flynn began to gratify him with flattery – or was it cajolery? Was Flynn trying to curry favour with him? When the crew, collectively, showered him with praise, it was different, compared to when Flynn did so during a tete-a-tete, close to midnight, on the deck, under the stars, no less. While Flynn wasn’t exactly directly, outright declaring his adoration of him, it felt like he was hinting at some personal adoration that transcended a captain-crewmate relationship. None of the crew, apart from Bepo, praised him one-on-one. Law coughed into his hand and set his coffee down with a thud. Why was Flynn snickering?

Flynn motioning at the tray and then looking at Law’s lap was not a gesture Law missed. By now he was completely confused as to whether Flynn had been and was still trying to prank him. As for Flynn’s question about the plums and carrots, Law’s face coloured with a sheepish tinge. He stared down at the tray, feeling like his reciprocal prank had backfired. Law cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to meet Flynn’s with a dead serious look.

“For digestion,” Law bullshitted, cocking his head slightly to the side. He gave a flourish of his hand. “Have you never heard? Forget about an apple a day. Plums assist with regular bowel movements. And carrots? Carrots are good for your eyes. Rich in nutrition. Prevents scurvy, them both.” He raked his eyes deliberately over Flynn to stare blatantly at Flynn’s lap. “Do you…like ‘plums and carrots’?” Law asked tentatively, his gaze travelling up Flynn to settle on Flynn’s face.

“I’m glad you have no regrets,” Law added. “It’s been…great, having you and your dad with us. Thanks for…giving it your all. You’ve always done good work.” He decided to throw in: “I’m proud of you, Flynn.” The comment was made half with the intention to fluster Flynn, half with sincerity. Law couldn’t shake the feeling of awkwardness that seemed to hang in the air between them, and hastily switched topics. “And ‘it seemed fitting’? No, but, it’s not just the coffee.” He brushed his finger over his lip, his gaze lowering to the tray. “You left the sticky notes.” He remembered the heart Flynn had drawn him. His eyes flicked up to Flynn, and he arched his brows. “Is this bribery? There isn’t something you seek from me?” He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. “You know I can’t play favourites.” Bepo was an exception on the account of having the other title of ‘good friend’.

He decided to try fishing a little more for info. “So, Flynn, every man has what they call life goals. Have you ever thought about yours?”

* * *

**Lizard**

Wasn't the 'carrots are good for your eyes' just bullshit? They were nutritious overall, Flynn had no doubt about that but the 'improving eyesight' thing was as true as the 'apple a day'. Flynn opened his mouth to ask but hesitated, frowning. Captain _was_ a doctor. Flynn had received basic first aid course and could name and recognise most of surgical tools and equipment but he had not spent hours each week, updating his medical knowledge. For all he knew, maybe carrots _were_ a wondrous sight improving vegetable?

Captain's question whether Flynn liked plums and carrots sent him into another spiral of doubt. The question on its own seemed perfectly normal and innocent - making sure the snack Captain had picked weren't something Flynn disliked but... There was something off about the way Captain had asked this question. Shrugging, he hummed in an agreement - they weren't his favourite but he didn't dislike them. Still, it felt as if Captain wasn't exactly talking about plums and carrots. As if 'plums and carrots' was some code that was eluding Flynn.

He couldn't help but smile at Captain's announcement he was proud of him. Flynn tried, but couldn't. He tried to push it away but this warm, fuzzy feeling swelling in his chest curled up his lips anyway. Flynn hoped the light was too low to see if his cheeks that were oddly warm turned red or not. It felt odd. Odd but nice. The only people who've ever told Flynn they were proud of him was his family. He's always loved it but having someone else - his Captain - say it was just as bizarre as it was nice.

Why was Captain leaning in so close? "Yes, sticky notes. Coffee for you and snacks." Flynn took a deep breath, he really needed to get a hold of himself. Was it the punishment after all? To fluster him with the announcement of pride and then confuse with questions? Had Captain seen how Flynn reacted whenever dad praised him? Grinning like a stupid five-year-old? "Why would I want to bribe you? With coffee? Favourites?" Was he red after all? With how closely Captain looked at him, no matter the low-light, he probably could see how flushed Flynn was. The fact he thought about being flushed probably wasn't helping it.

With his back straight, leaning a bit backward, Flynn hid his face in his hands, he closed his eyes. He should _not_ be blushing at Captain's statement of pride! No! That was bad! As much as he adored this crew, he loved his parents and sister more! "I- I don't know? At the moment I'm making sure dad can travel around and is happy but after that?" What after that? He wasn't sure. Would he stay with the Heart Pirates? Everyone's smiles flashed in front of his closed eyes. He recalled the thrill when he steered Tang through dangerous waters in an attempt to shake off Marines. He would miss them. He would miss that. "I'd love to stay with you as long as I can." Flynn opened one eye, looking at Law in between his fingers. Yes, he had grown way too fond of Heart Pirates to go back now. "I'd love to be your helmsman as long as I can."

* * *

**Lena**

Law dissected Flynn’s reactions into what he heard and what he saw, and attempted to analyse each part of Flynn’s response with a fine-toothed comb. What did Flynn’s humming mean? An affirmative answer? An evasive or deliberately misleading answer? Law regretted the usage of euphemisms, for now he had no idea what kind of carrots and plums were to Flynn’s liking or dislike. Flynn beamed when praised, and – was it just him, or was Flynn’s face turning the colour of his flaming hair? Was Flynn flustered due to shyness about confessing his feelings, or was it that he had not expected his captain to respond to his prank in a subtly amorous manner?

It was Law’s turn to be hit with confusion when Flynn hid his face in his hands. Law tensed up, half-expecting a heartfelt confession to pour from Flynn’s lips. Surely, they were not drunk enough to play peekaboo? By then, Law was seated also with his back stiff and perplexity suffusing his expression as Flynn admitted he wanted to stay with him as long as he could. _‘You’? ‘Your helmsman’?_ Law tugged at his collar. They were outdoors, the night air cool and refreshing, but he felt a flush of warmth rising through him, and abashment was bleeding over his cheeks, turning them the colour of Flynn’s hair. No one had ever been this direct with him; nobody had told him they wanted to stay with him forever. Frankly, while he ought to be pleased and honoured at Flynn’s promise of undying loyalty (and love?), Law was terrified. What did this mean? Could Flynn take a prank that far? Unforgivable. To toy with another’s feelings like that was no laughing matter.

Law stared, a little perturbed, at Flynn’s single eye peeping out at him from between Flynn’s fingers. Stumped for words, Law pulled the brim of his hat lower over his brow to hide his disconcertion. Gazing blankly at the plums and carrots, he took long, contemplative sips of his coffee. Was Flynn just being ingratiating? He had to admit Flynn was an attractive, competent and charming man; Flynn’s grin lit up the room – though of course, Bepo’s lit up the room the brightest. But Flynn was just his helmsman. If they got involved with each other, sooner than later, someone was bound to sniff out their secret. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them. It would get messy, complicated, and encourage more of such behaviour among the crew. Much as he was hesitant to hurt Flynn’s feelings, he had to nip things in the bud. Of course, this was all assuming Flynn wasn’t artfully pranking him – and if he found out Flynn was up to mischief, it wouldn’t just be carrots he would be breaking.

Law had made his decision, yet his heart felt uneasy with inexplicable conflict. But he was adept at ignoring conflicts of the heart. Running with the assumption of a prank, Law painted on his sweetest, warmest smile and suppressed the inner shiver of disgust he felt knowing how soft he must look.

“I’m…moved by your words, Flynn,” Law said, flavouring his voice with gentleness to further sell his act. “That makes me so incredibly happy to hear.” His smile crinkled his eyes, and he allowed his gaze to drift to Flynn’s lap. “I retract my unwarranted accusation of bribery. I just found it hard to believe anyone could be as sincere as you. Let’s be frank, there are times when I’m not my best self, when I could be unbearable. Yet, that you would still think so highly of me…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed, needing to pause to dredge up every ounce of sweetness he could unearth, buried away beneath his cold, hardened shell.

“You can stay as long as you want, of course. You’ll forever and always be _min_ e – _my_ helmsman, by my side, as long as you live. Till death.” An idea struck him and he continued with a twinkle in his eyes, “For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. Till death does us apart.” He raised his mug to offer Flynn a toast. Then he tossed a plum into Flynn’s lap. The other plum, he picked up between his fingers and cradled in his hand, like it was some precious golden egg. He very much hoped to fluster Flynn into apologising for pranking him. _He_ certainly would not back down first.

“You have nice hair,” Law threw out, casually. “Soft, long and smooth, flaming red, just like your face right now. You must take good care of it, like Bepo takes good care of his fur. What do you use, honey? Oil?” He propped an elbow on a knee and leaned his face against his hand. “And your hair, it’s all naturally red?” He respectfully omitted the words ‘down there too?’ for he didn’t want to be accused of harassment, and he did truly wish to keep Flynn on as a helmsman. “You must turn heads wherever you go.”

So much for nipping things in the bud.

* * *

**Lizard**

Flynn's heart sank and he was glad he's already covered his face with his hands - it probably turned ghostly white. Why was Captain quiet? Flynn's just said he wanted to stay in this crew. Wait. Was this whole meeting a goodbye? Was Captain going to kick him and dad out?! Hadn't he just said he was proud of him?! Oh, fuck he was getting flustered again! Flynn held his breath and closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of his emotions. This confusing mixture of a fuzzy warmth of hearing someone's proud of him, bewilderment and embarrassment of this 'someone' being his Captain (it was like being in 3rd grade and calling your teacher 'mom'!) and this growing, gnawing dread they were going to be kicked out!

_Oh fuck. God. Yes._

Flynn visibly deflated with relief. If his back had been as tense as a too taught violin string - about to snap - now it felt like a limp, overcooked noodle. Why was he doing it to himself? Overthinking. Worrying. Yes, Captain could be an asshole at times and he wasn't exactly a stranger to being a cruel bastard but his ire rarely was directed toward his crewmates. He was more of a mother goose protecting her gosling.

Wait, weren't those?

Flynn's knitted his eyebrows and only now lowered his hands, looking up at Captain's face. Weren't those wedding vowes? He couldn't help but smirk, amused. Oh, yes, another of Captain's traits - awkward. It was astonishing how this man could be a smooth talker in one sentence but completely flop the next one. Oh well, it _was_ part of his charm. As a captain, at least. Their amazing if silly at times leader. Flynn _really_ couldn't imagine it working on ladies or gentlemen in taverns.

Flynn opened his mouth about to reprimand his Captain that yes... His hair... Oh so very red... But he thought better of it. If Captain wanted to play around by _flirting_ (awkwardly) who was Flynn to deny him that? He liked flirting. He _adored_ flirting.

"Can you blame me, Captain?" He picked up the plum he had been 'given'. "For being red on my face?" With his eyes on the plum, he dug his thumbs into it, splitting it in half. "You've just stirred within me more emotions than I know what to do with." He lifted his head, looking Captain in the eye, a soft smirk on his lips.

Yes, he felt way more comfortable within the realm of flirting than being proud of one another.

"It is _all_ red, yes." He nodded, not averting his gaze. "I thought you would know. I admit it's not often but I _do_ on an occasion, walk around topless, Captain." He took a bite of the plum. Flynn's chest hair perhaps wasn't the most impressive out there, but it certainly wasn't a sight worthy of a prepubescent boy either. All red. As well as the red trail from his belly button down to his pubes. "Plus you give us regular, medical checkups." Flynn's smirk grew a tiny bit wider. He had to admit to himself his next line was going to be heavy-handed but hey, if Captain could quote wedding vowes at him, Flynn could be just as bad. Throw Captain's own weapon back at him. "Was it only an excuse? To get me to strip so I can prove it?" He leant forward and mirrored Captain's pose, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow on the knee. "For you Captain? Say a word - keep me _warm_ \- and I _will_ strip for you." And also go into a battle but those were details.

* * *

**Lena**

Law tipped his mug to his lips, eyeing Flynn coolly and levelly over its brim. He continued holding the cup to his face as Flynn confirmed the colour of his pubes, even though he was no longer sipping his coffee, his movements suspended while his imagination fired up and instantly went into overdrive. Still, outwardly, he maintained his composure – at least, until the talk of stripping. Coffee shot down the wrong pipe and Law spluttered the bitter drink, warm coffee dribbling down his chin as he hunched over and coughed into his hand. Frantically he waved off any attempts of Flynn’s to help. After a brief coughing fit, he dabbed at his mouth with the back of his sleeve and went silent, eyes briefly closing under deeply furrowed brows. He sat still, back straightened, meditating to regain mental calm.

Yet, his thoughts were in turmoil. By now, he wasn’t just confused about Flynn’s behaviour and words; the confusion had expanded to cover how Flynn’s flirting was affecting him. _Be cool_ , he reminded himself. _You’ve seen this idiot naked numerous times_. Granted, on previous occasions, he’d always been more intrigued with examining Flynn’s interior parts than his exterior ones, and after performing all the check-ups on every member of the crew, the image of Flynn’s nakedness had faded from his mind. The image certainly didn’t stick in his head when he went to bed those nights. Tonight, he expected the image would be etched in his head: Flynn, topless, stripping; Flynn, all red, red hair trailing down to his waistband...

Opening his eyes, he stared down at the one remaining plum and few carrots. Inwardly he smacked himself upside his head. The present awkwardness could’ve been avoided had he quietly accepted the goodwill gesture and eaten the celery and strawberries without overthinking Flynn’s intentions. Flirting with strangers was one thing; flirting with someone who’d proclaimed they wanted to be with him forever? How did one live down and erase the embarrassment of awkward flirting? He was going to have to murder Flynn at this rate.

 _Yet_ , no, he couldn’t forget they were playing a game. They were engaged in a fierce prank battle, the fiercest of all battles, fiercer than the ones fought on an actual battlefield (not really, but almost). He couldn’t let his guard down, he couldn’t let Flynn’s charm and aptitude for flirting dishearten him. He couldn’t be dispirited that Flynn wielded a bigger sword. _Faugh_ , it was all about the technique, not size. On high guard, he would parry Flynn’s sword effortlessly and thrust at him sharply. He would not quit.

Besides, it seemed almost like a dare now, except it was Flynn daring him, not the other way around. Flynn was daring Law to dare him to strip, and Flynn was daring him with such alacrity. Assuming Law gave any answer but ‘keep me warm’ or ‘strip’, assuming he told Flynn this was evidently all a huge misunderstanding, he would appear cowardly. He needed to prove that Flynn’s nudity bothered him not the slightest. Yet, ordering Flynn to strip and having Flynn obey was a bit much to contemplate – a bit much because the idea tantalised him. What next, ordering Flynn to shave? To wear a collar with _CAPTAIN_ engraved?

Law had been sipping whatever was left in his mug with a pensive expression on his face, eyes downcast. He dropped his head back and downed the contents of the mug before settling his gaze on Flynn, his head cocked to the side, a challenging look in his eyes. “A striptease?” He kept his voice quiet and low, with only a faint note of interest. “Inclusive of a lap dance?” He arched an eyebrow to punctuate his attempt at flirting. He cleared his throat and painted a small smile. “And, you caught me.” He gave a slight shrug in ‘defeat’. “It’s been too long since your last medical examination, and that won’t do. Can’t risk your health and well-being deteriorating.” He maintained his smile while his eyes briefly flicked to the background, wondering if any of the crew were hiding and watching, for he believed someone must’ve dared Flynn to strip for him.

“It’s cold out tonight,” Law said, straight-faced. He pushed the tray out of the way, and murmured, “Keep me warm, will you…Flynn?”

* * *

**Lizard**

Flynn rose to his knees and made a weird sound that was a mix of a chortle and a gasp. He reached out toward coughing Captain - to pat him on the back or something - but was swatted back. He sat back down, staring at Captain, marinating in his own mixture of amusement, confusion and concern. On one side, Flynn was worried he made Captain choke on his own coffee. On the other side, he was entertained by the fact he managed to get such a strong, comical reaction. On yet another side, he was confused as to why - just _why_ \- had Captain reacted with such surprise. Hadn't he started the flirting? Hadn't he expected Flynn to flirt back? If one asks about colours of someone else's pubes it's only natural they would ask if the first person wanted to see... If they didn't find the inquiry distasteful in the first place. Flynn didn't and he was comfortable both with his own body and crew to walk around them butt naked.

There was always a possibility Captain didn't expect Flynn to reply with such _low-class_ flirts. If one would even call them that, really. But hey again: it was Captain who started.

He munched on the other half of the plum while waiting for Captain to regain his composure. To breathe with ease once again. To collect his thoughts once more. To decide on the plan of action.

He rose an amused eyebrow at Captain's suggestion of the striptease and a lap dance. And this challenge in his eyes. Flynn thought back. When was the last time he's done either? A few months probably. And he doubted any of the crew was around to tell the tale. At least that was the last time he had done it sober, he might have forgotten about some more recent time if he was drunk... No. The rest of the crew would probably tease him about that...

Flynn knitted his eyebrows, looking at Captain's face. Could it be Flynn had performed a striptease for someone while drunk and Captain had happened to witness it?

"You?" Flynn's eyes grew big before he realised and snorted. "Sorry, Captain. I meant 'me'. Say a word you'd like me to strip _and_ keep me warm." He pulled at his shoelaces. "As you said, it's cold outside, I don't mind parading with my butt out but I don't particularly enjoy being cold." He took his boots off and swung up to his feet. "Also, for the love of anything and everything that's holy, Captain, please do _not_ ask strangers what colour are their pubes. Unless you want them to slap you." It wouldn't be the first nor the last time Captain aggravated someone.

Flynn pulled his zipper down, making no suggestive movements. He could just as well be standing in front of a shower stall, about to hop into the hot stream... Or cold, considering he was stripping under a starry sky. "On second thought, don't even do it when you want to offend someone. That's something an ass of low-class would say." He winked at Captain, a playfully smirk on his lips. "Your ass if of the highest class, Captain." But caring, kind and lonely under this outside. Everyone in the crew could see that and that's why each of them stayed.

He slid his arms out and held the suit lower so he could step out of it before letting it drop onto the deck. He still had his tank top, boxers and socks on - all black - but he could already _feel_ the hair on his shoulders and legs raise. He wondered whether he would get covered in goosebumps before or after Captain chickened out.

Pulling the top over his head, Flynn frowned. Why would Captain chicken out? He was a doctor. He had seen people naked. He couldn't be embarrassed about watching someone strip. If Flynn wanted to make Captain chicken out, he should act sensual after all.

With his arms still inside the top, Flynn looked at Captain's face. It had been when Flynn 'flirted' back that Captain choked on his coffee. What would happen if he acted as if he wanted to fuck Captain?

In all honesty, this thought _had_ crossed his mind before.

So had thoughts about fucking the rest of the crew. Each of them was _hot_.

"Sorry Captain, without music, I don't really _dance_." Flynn let the tanktop drop to the floor and he stood up straight, pushing his chest out ever so slightly. Not enough he couldn't claim it was only to present his chest hair. With a smirk, he put his fingertips at his hips and slid them closer to the belly button then trailed them up his abs, just an inch outside the hairline that widened up his chest, to the width of his pectorals. "All red, as you can see, _Captain_ ," he didn't exactly whisper but his voice was quieter. Flynn ran his fingers over his nipples and dipped them into the hair thick and long just enough to look somewhat impressive. "It's quite soft actually." He ran his fingers back down, combing through, his eyes never leaving Captain's face. "Would you like to have a feel?" He took half a step closer as he hooked his thumbs on the waistband.

Without a hitch, he lowered the band past his groomed pubes but paused just when he felt the cold air at the very top of his dick. "Here too."

Did he mean it being red, or having a feel? Both. It was both. And also finding out if Captain would dare him to pull the boxers off, do it himself or chicken out after all.

* * *

**Lena**

As Flynn freed himself from the burdensome confines of his boiler suit, he had a mesmerised audience of one, sitting slightly tense in anticipation with each inch of skin Flynn bared. Idly rubbing his knuckles, Law fixed his eyes on Flynn, lest he missed any subtle hints that revealed any traces of embarrassment that suggested he was winning. Flynn was already surpassing his expectations by stripping, but this only encouraged Law to experiment with how far he could push Flynn before Flynn backed down and surrendered: _Yes, yes, I admit, it was a prank-_ For that matter, he’d never seen Flynn perform a sober or drunken strip tease or lap dance, nor had he ever imagined Flynn performing such provocative moves, until now-

All the build-up led to a mild disappointment when Flynn strip tease was hardly a tease – more perfunctory stripping than sexy, though Law would observe intently till the final package was uncovered. A defensiveness pricked him when Flynn reproached him for asking about the colour of someone’s pubes, and he frowned. To Law, Flynn had started everything – no, if they were to point fingers, some devilish schemer in the crew was responsible, likely Shachi. Yet, he had to admit, even if they had started the fire, he had fanned the flames. And OK, maybe he had deliberately hinted at Flynn’s pubes.

Still: “Actually, I wasn’t inquiring about the colour of your pubes, per se. You assumed I was, but that’s on you, for choosing to interpret my words that way,” Law argued, in his defence. He could’ve been referring to Flynn’s leg or toe hair. Law quirked his brows in bemusement when Flynn proclaimed his ass of the highest class. He couldn’t tell if it was an innuendo disguised, if there was a brazen hint at an interest in copulation… Flynn’s playful wink and smirk certainly steered his thoughts in that direction and made his pulse spike for a couple of seconds.

The boiler suit fell, pooling around Flynn’s feet. Although Flynn wasn’t dawdling, the moment felt like a test of Law’s patience and willpower. He wanted to disrobe Flynn with his own hands – _his_ Flynn, as Flynn had declared himself, his helmsman, at least. Next went Flynn’s tank top, revealing his muscular torso, with a fine red carpet that seized Law’s attention. While he wasn’t embarrassed watching Flynn strip, his face set in a neutral expression, he could hardly look away.

Flynn stood clad only in his boxers and socks now, and Law watched raptly as Flynn trailed his fingers over his chest, touching his nipples – involuntarily, Law felt his nipples respond. A flush of warmth flooded him, polluting his mind with a red mist of desire, turning his ears a shade of red. Prompted by a growing restlessness, Law stood up, his eyes sweeping over Flynn with a proprietary gaze. Reminding himself of the fierce prank battle they were engaged in, Law began circling Flynn like a shark. He took slow, deliberate steps, keeping his hands clasped behind his back – only for a step or two, then he reached out and traced a finger down Flynn’s toned arm. Moving behind Flynn, his fingers skittered down over Flynn’s back to linger on the small curve above Flynn’s bottom. He completed the circle and paused in front of Flynn, close, that he got a whiff of hot chocolate on Flynn’s breath, and that he could notice any goose pimples, should they surface over Flynn’s skin. Law splayed his fingers, reached out, and slowly settled his hand against Flynn’s chest.

“All red; red like the sunset on a clear summer day; red, like a bleeding heart…” Law murmured, sounding pleased. “Alas, the cardinal redness of your pelt cannot be fully appreciated under the dim illumination of the stars and moon, nor from the faint glow cast by the deck lamp.” He ran his fingers through Flynn’s fiery red carpet and glanced up at Flynn with a slight smile touching his lips. “Very soft, yes; puts Bepo’s fur to shame... Makes me want to bury my face in your chest, bathe in your warmth,” he said, straight-faced. “I imagine all the lovers you bedded have done the same.”

He touched his fingers gently on Flynn’s forearm, and looked up at Flynn. He drew in a breath and feigned a sigh before splaying his other hand against Flynn’s abdomen. Then he turned his hand downward and slipped his fingers into Flynn’s boxers. In the back of his mind, a voice rang out, warning him to retreat. There should be a limit to pranks, except, by now, he couldn’t tell how much of it was a prank anymore, and he slid his hand south, his thumb brushing over the head of Flynn’s dick. Past the line of Flynn’s waistband, it felt like there was no going back. Law scrutinised Flynn’s expression, part of him hoping Flynn would burst into laughter and admit that he lost, that the prank had gone too far, that they should never speak of that night again; part of him sensed the approach of an imminent disaster, but felt a reluctance to evacuate. He would persist, wielding his drill, like a mad dentist, until he extracted a confession from Flynn’s lips. But not there; not on the deck.

Law slipped his hand out. “No need for music or dancing, or any other sort of distractions,” he said, taking a step back. “I want to focus on you, and only you, but we should go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.” A corner of his lips lifted in a half-smirk. “You wanted me to keep you warm… Why don’t you come to my room?” He was surprised at how smoothly the invitation escaped his lips. “I can have a proper feel then, without worrying about you developing hypothermia.” He brushed the cold tips of his fingers down Flynn’s chest, then he squatted down on his haunches, scooped out Flynn’s clothes and boots, and carried the tray. Pushing to his feet, hugging the clothes and boots to his chest, he headed to the door. “Don’t just stand there or you’ll catch a cold,” he said, glancing at Flynn over his shoulder. “Go wait in my room, it’s unlocked. I’ll put these away in the kitchen and laundry.” Unless Flynn stopped him, Law disappeared into the Tang.

In a way, as much as he was half-hopeful Flynn would be bold enough to venture into his room, as told, he expected Flynn to take the opportunity to chicken out rather than trap himself inside the captain’s quarters. After all, Flynn could merely come up with some excuse to explain his absence when they met the following day. While Law typically barred anyone from entering his room, he was willing to risk Flynn touching his belongings or finding his journals – albeit those were locked up in a drawer, though the key could be found within the room if one had time.

Law left Flynn’s boots and clothes in the laundry room (Flynn would have to walk around in his boxers if he wanted to retrieve them). After washing up in the kitchen, he headed to his room, paused outside, and pressed his ear against the door for a brief moment. Since he heard nothing amiss, without knocking, Law entered and shut the door behind him with a thud. He engaged the lock, turned around, and directed his attention to Flynn, who had one hand in Corazon Jr's tank, seemingly baiting the turtle with his finger - harassing the poor turtle, more like! Law stood unmoving for a second, walleyed with shock. Then he bounded over and caught Flynn's hand, pulling it out of the open-top glass tank from which Corazon Jr. stared at them impassively. Realising he'd likely overreacted, Law released Flynn's hand and stepped away. 

"He's on a strictly herbivorous diet, which I will not have you ruin, thank you," Law said dryly. "I would appreciate if you did not handle him in my absence. As you well know, human fingers tend to be choking hazards." Law cleared his throat, hoping to move on from the topic of why he forbade Flynn from sticking his finger in the tank. On hindsight, it wasn't exactly dangerous. Flynn wouldn't hurt the turtle, more like the turtle would snap at Flynn - but it wasn't like Flynn's blood would be toxic to the turtle. However, Law had been overcome by a sudden protective urge, and reacted too fiercely. "All right," Law mumbled, relenting with a huff, "you can touch him, but I'm not in the mood to stitch back your finger, so I implore you to exercise caution and common sense." A pause, as the gears turned in his head, formulating a quip. "But if you must insist on tempting the turtle, why, wouldn't your dick be a bigger stick to dangle?"

Law stared at the portable radio in his hand that he'd brought over. Music - music would be a fine distraction from the stupid comment he'd just made. He placed the radio on the bedside table, beside the tidy stack of books and the human skull paperweight. 

“I’ve always found classical Baroque music puts me in the mood,” Law said, fiddling with the radio. “Alone, the screams of terror of my unfortunate quarries would suffice, but I have a feeling you would disagree, and as I said, I want to focus on you and only you, my red herring.” Law shrugged off his coat and draped it over his chair. He removed his hat and ruffled his hair so it wouldn’t look ironed flat. In the background, an upbeat classical melody sounded from the radio and filled the room. “Does this suit you, Flynn?” Law asked, turning to the redhead. “Shall we see if your ass is high-class enough to satisfy my tastes?”

* * *

**Lizard**

With one eyebrow and one corner of his lips raised, Flynn turned his head, following Captain with his gaze. At least, as far as his neck allowed. He could turn his whole body or only the upper body but he decided to stay still - Captain clearly wanted to get a full view.

 _it's just a game of chicken_ , he had to remind himself because _damn_ Captain was an excellent actor. The look in Captain's eyes, his expression - one could think he was actually _serious_. That he actually and _deeply_ thirsted for Flynn. _That's only an act_. Flynn had experienced tiny crushes on the majority of his cremates - Captain included - but that was normal, wasn't it? Over time, Flynn had gotten over each and every crush and now he viewed them more as siblings or cousins than potential love interests. 

Still, Flynn found himself holding his breath and he closed his eyes. Those brief teasings, those light touches - the contrast of their warmth against the cold air - felt amazing and he feared they would draw involuntary sounds out of him. He would moan when given massages after all...

Captain completed his circle and stood in front of Flynn. Right in the very front. Only now, looking down at Captain's face, Flynn let himself breathe again, slowly and deeply. When was the last time they stook this close? If it had ever happened, Flynn couldn't recall it. The hand on his chest wasn't nearly as exhilarating as on his back. For starters, Flynn could see it happening, he saw it coming. More importantly, with a layer of hair, his chest wasn't nearly as cold as his back and thus less sensitive.

A small smile tugged at his lips and he hummed: there he was again. Captain was so... _Poetic_. The sunset? The bleeding heart? Even 'alas' and 'illumination. It sometimes felt like Captain was _unable_ to speak like a regular person. Always so poetic, always so _dramatic_ instead... And... Red?

Flynn frowned and crooked his head.

He was about to disagree that his chest hair was _nowhere_ near the softness of Bepo's fur, thought his partners _did_ rest on his chest, but he got distracted by Captain's ears.

Were they really reddish?

Captain was right: it couldn't be appreciated in this poor 'illumination' as Flynn wasn't entirely sure whether this darker colouration at the tips of Captain's ears was a blush of just a shadow.

His biceps twitched, pulling Flynn's attention. Once again, Captain's fingers felt hot against his goosebumps covered skin. He tightened his fingers around the waistband, not sure what to do with his hands. Should he pull his boxers down? Up? The horny part of his brain demanded he cups Captain's cheeks, leans in and kisses him. The reasonable and by far bigger part of his brain recognised this move for what it was: a _very_ bad move. This would _certainly_ made him the loser of this game of chicken. They were to tiptoe closer, test each other's boundaries, not to pounce ahead... Even if it _wasn't_ a game, Captain was Flynn's... Well, Captain was Flynn's captain. The _leader_ Flynn chose to follow and support, not a _lover_ material.

Captain turned his hand and slid it downward.

Flynn breathed in and held it once again, thanking anything and everything holy that he wasn't ticklish: last he needed was to lose focus, give in, start laughing and pop a boner.

It wouldn't even be the first time he got a boner due to laughing too much.

His thigh twitched when Captain's fingers brushed over his dick but Flynn persisted, not looking away. Teasing he could see and which didn't happen against his cold skin was manageable though Flynn had to silently applaud Captain for going that far - others would usually break by this point.

Captain stepped away, instructed Flynn to go to his room, collected the tray _and_ Flynn's clothes and walked back inside Polar Tang.

Flynn scratched the back of his head, at the loss of what the _hell_ he should do.

Go?

Not go?

Was it another step of the chicken game? Did Captain think he wouldn't dare go this far?

In all honesty, Flynn was reluctant - if he went there, who was he to say where they would end up. Flynn didn't care and that's _exactly_ what scared him. He, _Flynn_ , was perfectly _fine_ if this very night Captain went as far as _fucking_ him. If Captain dared Flynn to blow him, Flynn would probably do it too. He enjoyed those. He hardly saw any reason _not_ to do it.

Would it affect Captain though?

Flynn had no idea.

He shivered - wind licked his naked back. Rubbing his bare shoulders, Flynn trotted indoor. He walked toward the sleeping quarters, wondering.

Captain's room.

He's never seen it.

Captain's room.

Hardly any of Heart Pirates been there before.

Captain's room.

Corazon Jr's tank.

Flynn stopped midstep, his eyes widening.

Corazon Jr's tank.

A big smile stretched his lips and he bobbed in place.

He would get to see Corazon Jr.

He walked toward Captain's room, throwing away any doubts.

_He would finally get to see Corazon Jr!_

In his glee, Flynn forgot to knock. He looked around, ignoring anything that wasn't rectangular, made out of glass and didn't hold a turtle inside. He trotted right up to the tank and leaned over, peering inside. There he was! Corazon Jr. Finally in flesh and shell. With his hands together near his face, Flynn clapped briefly in his excitement. It felt like his birthday back when he was six and about to unpack a gift.

He reached over the glass and inside the tank. Despite his rush before, his movements were slow and careful now. He didn't want to spook Corazon Jr. after all. With his fingers half an inch away, he paused, waiting for Corazon Jr. to lose interest. Only then he touched the shell with the back of his fingers and carefully ran them over it.

The door opened, closed and the lock clicked.

Oh, yes. Captain.

Flynn blinked slowly, like a deer caught on crossroads.

_He had forgotten._

Captain stormed over and pulled Flynn's hand out of the tank. Flynn didn't resist. Captain was right - Flynn shouldn't go around sticking fingers in weird places. Plus Captain's awkward explanation seemed like a sign he realised he might have overreacted - it's not like Flynn was abusing Corason Jr. Somehow, Flynn found Captain's care for his turtle endearing.

Captain carried on, turning on the radio and stating his expectations about what was going to happen. _Red Herring_. Flynn smirked. It's been a while since anyone called him that. He had gotten this nickname since all Heart Pirates had either aquatic names or nicknames but somehow 'Fly' was more common.

Flynn rolled his shoulders, his eyes locked on Captain's face. A lapdance then - if it meant Flynn got to play with Corazon Jr. he was perfectly fine with that. He was even willing to pretend to lose this game of chicken if he noticed signs of hesitation from Captain's side. Flynn was getting good at reading other Heart Pirates reactions but Captain was still an enigma in this matter.

"Was it a Freudian slip, Captain?" Flynn walked over, stopping in from of Captain nearly as close as Captain had back on the deck. "You implore me to practice common sense." He breathed out, tilting his head as he eyed Captain's face and neck. Acting out a lustful look, Flynn let himself wonder and imagine. Wonder how it would taste like to kiss Captain's neck and imagine a trail of hickeys.

A mistake.

"Yet you suggest I stick my dick inside the tank instead of my hands." Flynn tilted his head the other way and not so secretly eyed Captain's other profile as he leant in even closer. "You've already laid your hand on my dick." His voice was just a whisper as he touched Captain's right hand. He palmed the back of it and brought it in between them. "You make me think you're twitching for more, _Captain,_ " he _purred_ the last word as he pressed Captain's hand against his abdomen. He breathed in; his stomach - his toned abs under a layer of soft hair - shifted underneath Captain's touch. "That you'd love to have a _look_ this time." Flynn rocked on his feet, from side to side; it was slower than the music but perfectly half as fast.

A slow dance.

"You said you wanted your attention on me." Flynn moved Captain's right hand along his ribs, past his side and to his lower back. Low enough Captain's fingers touched the waistband of Flynn's boxers. "Your whole focus on _me_." His voice dipped once more at the last word and once more he moved in closer. By now he had to tilt his head to the side, otherwise, his nose would bump against Captain's forehead. Flynn was perfectly fine, it gave him a neat view on Captain's neck and collarbone and... Ears.

They were indeed red. // **ask Lena if they are red or not.**

Flynn smirked. He had always enjoyed adoring people. There were only a few sensations better than flustering people.

"Tonight, I shall be your red _ear_ ring." What a bad pun. "Here. For you to enjoy."

Everything would be back to normal once he leaves this room. Right?

Still swaying from leg to leg, Flynn let go of Captain's hand and rested his on Captain's upper arm. Like a lady, resting her hand on the shoulder of a gentleman she danced with. "Don't fault me for the choice of dance, Captain," he joked, " _you_ picked the music." He took Captain's left hand in his and - lazily entwining their fingers - he lifted it to their chest level. It was hardly a proper form. Captain's hand should be on Flynn's shoulderblade, far away from his butt, yet there it was, just a slight movement away.

"I wonder." Pulling his head back, Flynn rested his gaze on Captain's lips - he didn't hide with it the smallest bit - he wanted to see Captain's reaction to this. "I wonder if Captain would be able to keep your eyes on my face..." He lifted his eyes to meet Captain's and a small smirk tugged at his lips. "If I were to lose my boxers." He chuckled and brought their interlocked hands close to his lips. "Here." He moved the back of Captain's hand against his own cheek. He never kissed it, but the corner of his lips made contact. "In your Room." It could be taken twofold, couldn't it? With Captain's _Room_ powers and in Captain's bed _room_ , with his hands but the old fashioned way. Either way would be interesting.

Flynn looked down, at Captain's torso. Still fully dressed. He took a deep breath in and out before smirking and looking into Captain's eyes once more. "I think I would struggle if the roles were reversed."

 _This_ wasn't a lie.

* * *

**Lena**

It was his most trying battle yet.

Not only was Flynn’s ass very likely first-rate, but Flynn’s flirtatious pretence, if he was indeed pretending, was first-class. _Topping._ Applaudable! Look how well Flynn kept it together as he dazzled with his overflowing charm and teased with such cocky sadism. Law supposed it did not matter if they were still engaged in a game of chicken. As the one who _should_ have the better sense, he needed to call their shenanigans off _pronto_ , even at the risk of conceding defeat. But that look Flynn gave him! That desire of such forbidden flavours, it pinned his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, his own desires seizing the reins and quelling all reason and thought. All he suddenly noticed was how close Flynn was standing – and how much closer Flynn was getting, leaving but a hair’s breadth of breathing space between them, that Law almost backed a step. Now that they were in an enclosed room, Flynn’s scent was stronger, ever-present, hints of zesty lemon and sweet cinnamon mingling with the tang of grease and sweat.

And Flynn, how would he _taste_?

Law knew how _he_ would taste. Of delicious defeat.

 _You make me think you're twitching for more, Captain._ Flynn’s words, delivered in such provocative tones…at least two of Law’s organs responded with exuberance. His heart skittered. Blood rushed to his groin. Flynn guided his hand over his toned abs and layer of soft hair, with the expertise of which he had guided the Polar Tang across the seas. Law drew in a small breath, held it, and released it very slowly. Flynn was swaying on his feet to the music, though Law didn’t join in. Still, he let Flynn steer his hand over Flynn’s torso, coming to berth on the waistband of Flynn’s boxers. Law settled his hand on Flynn’s hip, a thumb dropping anchor into Flynn’s waistband. Throughout their semi-dancing, he had his soft gaze on Flynn’s eyes. Eyes the deep green of the ocean that he could get lost swimming in.

_You said you wanted your attention on me. Your whole focus on me._

How could he disagree? How could he deny it? How could he abstain?

He never wanted to look away, never wanted to take his attention off Flynn. Flynn’s hypnotic voice would’ve made that quite difficult. Already it was colouring the tips of his ears a shade reddish with the raunchy words Flynn was purring. To his dismay, Law realised he had forgotten how Flynn normally sounded, when he wasn’t speaking like this.

His Adam’s apple bobbing on his throat, his eyes drifted to Flynn’s lips. The classical music felt at odds with the mood, its tempo too slow and gentle in contrast with the beat of his heart. Twitching, Flynn said? Oh, his hands were twitching, all right, despite the veneer of composure he struggled to maintain, twitching to grab Flynn and shove him against the wall. For that, he needed deep, brassy, ominous music that surged to a grand crescendo before collapsing into a gradual diminuendo.

His red earring? The pun was lost on him. Nonetheless, Law obliged when Flynn, poised to be led in a dance, put his hand on Law’s arm. Law had already begun swaying to the music in unison with Flynn, so he slid his arm around Flynn, his hand resting on Flynn’s back. He’d never danced with a man, but he said with quiet confidence, “So, let’s dance,” and locked eyes with Flynn. Flynn took his hand and entwined their fingers. Law didn’t have to think about where to put his feet. They moved automatically, smoothly in step with Flynn’s, leading Flynn through a basic box step.

At least, until Flynn brought up the subject of dropping his boxers.

 _What?_ Law raised quizzical brows, then frowned. He missed a step or two, and it was his quick reflexes that saved him from treading on Flynn’s foot. God forbid he fell into Flynn’s arms! Flynn pressed Law’s hand to his cheek, and Law stared at the scar under Flynn’s eye as they picked up the dance. _One, two, three. One, two, three._ _One, two, three._ Law increased their pace. His grip tightened on Flynn’s hand, almost crushing, when Flynn joked that, were their roles reversed, he would be struggling.

Way to call him out!

Was he that obvious?

Even so!

What disrespect.

Law was silent for a moment as he continued the dance. He’d relaxed his grip on Flynn’s hand – couldn’t injure that which the whole crew was counting on – and his other hand stayed put on Flynn’s back. His eyes, alas, they strayed south. Not _that_ far south! Merely wandering over the constellation of freckles on Flynn’s cheeks – was it just him or were they now _coloured_ cheeks? – and then journeying over the freckles on Flynn’s well-set shoulder – _if only he could pillow his head there for one second_ – adorned with silhouettes of bears. Come to think of it, he’d never asked what the inspiration behind Flynn’s ink was. He studied the Jolly Roger on Flynn’s chest, a smaller version of the one on his back.

The music changed, finally picking up in tempo. They tried a different variance of the steps. Law said nothing, still, his head emptied of quips and teases to regale Flynn with. In fact, he scared himself when he realised, he was actually _dancing_. Not _pretending_ to dance, not testing to see how far Flynn would go, but actually, seriously, _dancing._ Dancing! _Him!_ All the realisations were just hitting him one after another, without mercy, and he was left a tad short of breath. Then came the epiphany: what if Flynn could stay the night? One night. _One hour._ They could forget everything, for that hour. He could have Flynn in his bed, on his back, or more likely on his hands and knees. Bent over his desk? Certainly not over Corazon Jr.’s tank.

One hour, to bask in the glow of Flynn’s presence.

Nay, what senseless drivel!

Like hell they would last an hour.

Law had to stop the dancing, for his head was beginning to spin. He halted in the centre of the room, lips pinched together, brows furrowed.

_Flynn’s lips, on his own, running along his skin. Flynn’s hands, undressing him. Imprinting his mark on Flynn’s pale skin with his teeth._

Law shut his eyes and inhaled…exhaled…

He opened his eyes and stared at Flynn, his fingers brushing over Flynn’s jawline, then tentatively stroking the underside of Flynn’s chin. He dragged his nails down Flynn’s back with slight pressure. His fingertips dipped a fraction of an inch into Flynn’s waistband.

Flynn was very attractive. But what about the morning after? What about the following mornings after? How would they look at each other? Wasn’t it an abuse of his power? He didn’t want Flynn to go along just because he wielded a position of authority. Wouldn’t he lose Flynn’s respect in the process?

His fingers ghosted down the length of Flynn’s arm and his fingertips touched Flynn’s lightly. He held Flynn’s gaze for a breath, and then he grabbed Flynn’s jaw and leaned towards him, his lips brushing against the corner of Flynn’s mouth, hovering there, his hand holding Flynn’s face in place.

Only a half-suppressed, frustrated sigh made it past Law’s lips. He released Flynn grudgingly and patted him on the chest. He brought his lips to Flynn’s ear and whispered, “As much as I’d like to plunge my oar into the deep end of your sea, so deep, where the sun doesn’t shine…as much as I’d trust you to steer my oar, hands-free…” One side of his mouth curving into a faint smirk, he withdrew from Flynn and stepped back. Yeah, that was him: killjoy extraordinaire.

His smile faded and he regarded Flynn with a solemn look. “The Captain usually has to make the difficult decisions. However, between my red…earring, and my helmsman, it doesn’t even come close to a tough choice.” He was half-hard now, and though he didn’t mind Flynn noticing it, a cold shower was of utmost urgency, if he was going to request Flynn’s company for another short while.

“Will you wait here?” Law tossed Flynn his coat. “I left your clothes in the laundry, but I’ll get you another set.” He glanced over at Corazon Jr. Maybe it was just him, but the turtle looked relieved to be spared the auditory and visual trauma. “You can take him out, if you’d like,” Law added. “And yes- _no_ , don’t stick your finger or dick at him.” Law strode over to the door and paused. He turned his head and knitted his brows. “You…You understand, right?” He couldn’t lose such a great helmsman, after all. He allowed himself one last look over Flynn’s sculpted physique and fiery red hair. Then he drummed his fingers on the door jamb, turned, and left.

It was a brutally cold shower, but one of absolute necessity. Calmed down and refreshed, sweat washed off his skin, desire drowned in the drain, Law got dressed and returned with a clean set of clothes for Flynn. He shut the door and placed them on his bed. In his other hand, he carried a tray, a vegetable salad for Corazon Jr. (or Flynn as well): sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and apples, and corn kernels, sitting atop crisp lettuce leaves. Law passed the tray to Flynn. “Knock yourself out.” He meant Flynn could feed the turtle, though he would be amused if Flynn helped himself. Corazon Jr. would be less amused, of course.

Law flopped down on his bed, eyeing Flynn for another moment of silence, before he said, raking a hand through his hair (he had misplaced his hat in the showers, but had not realised): “Hey, Fly?” He met Flynn’s eyes. “You’re still my Red Herring. But… You’re also an irreplaceable helmsman and member of the crew.” A small smile crossed his lips. “And if anyone ever dares make you a better offer to work onboard their ship, you can bet your first-class ass I’ll match and top it.”

* * *


End file.
